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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24355528">Awake</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathkin/pseuds/kathkin'>kathkin</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Merlin (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arthur Pendragon Has Magic (Merlin), M/M, Magic Revealed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:19:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,038</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24355528</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathkin/pseuds/kathkin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The magic crackled down his arm. Arthur could feel it thrumming in his muscles, flexing and clenching, like water flowing slowly – slowly – He stretched out his fingers and concentrated on the sensation, but it slipped away, just out of reach.</i>
</p><p>In which Arthur finds a piece of paper in Merlin's chamber; reads the note that's scribbled down on it; doesn't realise it's a magic spell; doesn't realise that his eyes flare red while reading it; comes to the shocking conclusion that he's a sorcerer and that his magic has been lingering inside him all this time, waiting to be unleashed; flails around, doesn't know how to act around his father anymore; eventually seeks Merlin's help.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>569</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Awake</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Originally <a href="https://merlinkinkmeme.livejournal.com/17385.html">posted here</a> as part of Kink Me Merlin Spring Fever back in 2011.</p><p>The warnings on the above link do not apply to this version of the fic. See end notes for warnings for this version!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The magic crackled down his arm. He could feel it thrumming in his muscles, flexing and clenching, like water flowing slowly – slowly – He stretched out his fingers and concentrated on the sensation, but it slipped away, just out of reach. He let out a growling sigh of frustration, stance slackening.</p><p>Merlin was there at once, steadying him, one hand gripping his wrist, holding it in place. “Don’t give up,” he said. “You did it before, you can do it again.”</p><p>“I’m not giving up,” said Arthur, because he wasn’t. He could beat this. He couldn’t let it be too strong for him. “I just can’t concentrate. It’s getting late.”</p><p>“Don’t concentrate, then,” said Merlin. He stepped back, fingers still on Arthur’s wrist, mirroring his stance. It was as if he were Arthur’s shadow. “You’re trying too hard. Just relax and let it happen.” His grip tightened for a moment, as if comforting, and then he let go.</p><p>Arthur sighed again and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, put on his best ‘Merlin, don’t be such an idiot’ face, but duly tried to relax.</p><p>The magic was hot and cold all at once, spreading through his shoulder, down his arm, his elbow, his wrist, his fingers, then out into the world, and he feels it, feels the particles in the air shifting around his magic as it pushes out, feels it sweep up the cup on the table, like waves carrying flotsam out to sea, like the tide coming in, sending it flying up into the air. </p><p>It only lasted for a moment before he started back, knocking into Merlin, and the magic drained away, the cup clattering back down to the table top. Behind him, Merlin let out a breathless laugh.</p><p>“I knew you could do it,” he said.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>The trouble with losing things was that they were always in the last place you looked.<br/>Take Merlin, for instance. He was hardly ever anywhere sensible, like Gaius’ rooms or the armoury or the kitchens – no, he’d be on top of the battlements or halfway up a tree, or soaking wet beside the millpond, or sometimes he’d just vanish then reappear days later with only a cheerful smile and an insincere apology by way of explanation. Arthur had grown used to this quite rapidly. But it was always best to check the sensible places first, just in case.<p>Merlin’s room was empty. Or, well, no, it was full of assorted clutter, clothes and books strewn across every surface, but Merlin himself was absent. The absence of Merlin in the room was palpable. Arthur rolled his eyes and stepped over the threshold. Something crunched underfoot, drawing his attention to the floor. </p><p>There were at least a dozen sheets of crumpled parchment haphazardly scattered about just inside the door, as if they’d been thrown from the other side of the room. Arthur was hardly thrifty, but even to him that seemed like a waste. Parchment was not cheap. He snatched up a sheet, turned and strode back down the steps, already planning his admonishment. Then, suddenly curious, he slowed to a stop and began to unball the parchment.</p><p>There was writing scrawled across it, in Merlin’s hand, he thought. Only a sentence or so, but it was completely illegible. Arthur wasn’t even sure they were real words. He held the parchment up to eye level and tried to sound it out, mouthing the words to himself. They seemed to flow together, somehow, and once he had them pieced together he couldn’t help but say it aloud.</p><p>For a moment the air in the room seemed to stand still and silent around him. Then there was a great throbbing pulse that left him trembling all over, like a gust of cold wind, and everything surged upwards. </p><p>The chairs, the table, the workbench, all the books and papers and glassware, everything floated up, up through the air around him until it was all knocking against the ceiling, clustered up there like a swarm of bees. Arthur gaped, hand going to the hilt of his sword, except he wasn’t wearing it, because Merlin had misplaced his sword belt. That was why he’d been searching for him in the first place.</p><p>Up by the ceiling, test tubes were tinkling together gently. Arthur bolted.</p><p>Once he was outside, he stopped and took a few deep breaths, desperately hoping he’d just imaged the whole thing, but no – when he pressed his ear to the door he could still hear the rattling and jingling of the whole contents of the room knocking against the ceiling.</p><p>Arthur steeled himself, then turned and walked away down the passage, doing his best to look like someone who hadn’t just seen the physician’s chambers magically levitate themselves, which really should not have been difficult. It had been true until that morning.</p><p>It wasn’t until he was safely back in his chambers that he realised he still had the parchment clutched tight in one hand. He opened it up and stared at the words, numbness settling over him slowly. Because it was a spell. It had to be. It was a spell, and, more importantly, he had said it. He had worked a spell. He had bespelled Gaius’ workroom. He had used magic. He was a magic-using, spell-reading traitor to the crown. He sat down heavily, misjudged the placement of his chair somewhat, and ended up on the floor instead. </p><p>After a while – he wasn’t sure how long, exactly – the numbness gave way to anger. It was like some sort of sickness. The magic. A sickness which had the sheer <i>nerve</i> to infect him, to bring him down to this level, to make him into this – into – </p><p>He hauled himself to his feet, flung the parchment into the fire, then ranged about the room as it burned, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do next.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>Merlin appeared an hour or so later, bearing a stack of freshly laundered sheets with Arthur’s sword belt balanced on top. Arthur was sitting slumped over the table, trailing his fingers across the smoothly polished wood. He didn’t even bother to look up.<p>“Sorry,” said Merlin, tipping the belt down in front of Arthur. “I found it in the armoury, must have dropped it last night – you didn’t need it until this afternoon, right?”</p><p>Arthur stared at him blankly. “Do I?” he asked. There were duties and such that he did, that he was supposed to do, but everything was so jumbled up inside his head, he couldn’t focus.</p><p>“Yes?” said Merlin. “For… training? With the knights?”</p><p>“Oh. That,” said Arthur, then, when Merlin looked at him strangely, “I mean – yes, of course. Just testing.” He sat up properly and reached for the belt. It took him three tries to do the buckle up. His hands were shaking. Thankfully Merlin was too preoccupied with making the bed to notice.</p><p>
  <i>Magic.</i>
</p><p>He thought he could feel it seething under his skin, crawling like a swarm of insects, but perhaps that it was just his imagination. It was there, though. He knew it was. He’d felt it, when he’d read the spell, felt it waking up, and it was still awake. It wouldn’t go back to sleep, not now.</p><p>After a few days, when he’d almost managed to calm down, he woke up one morning to find his things strewn around the room, clothes and armour and official documents scattered about, and Merlin in the middle off it all, picking up the broken shards of the chamber pot.</p><p>“It wasn’t me,” he said as Arthur sat up in bed and stared. “I swear. It was like this when I got here.”</p><p>Of course it was. Arthur had dreamed about the magic, like flames dancing across his fingertips, bursting out and burning all around him, and now here it was. He staggered out of bed. “I know. I mean,” he shook his head, “I believe you. It was probably… the wind. The window blew open in the night.”</p><p>Merlin’s gaze went to the window. It was closed quite firmly.</p><p>“And then blew closed again,” said Arthur. “That happens sometimes.” Merlin frowned, confused as always. “Just tidy it up, alright?” He marched forward, stepping around the broken pottery, and retrieved a clean pair of breeches from the floor.</p><p>“Are you alright?” Merlin called once he was dressed behind the screen.</p><p>“I’m fine, Merlin,” said Arthur. “I can button up my own shirts just fine, thank you.”</p><p>“No, I mean you’ve been acting sort of strange all week,” said Merlin. “Is something wrong?”</p><p>Of course Merlin would choose now to have one of his weirdly perceptive moments. He had the most splendid timing. Arthur sighed and scoffed and said, “I’m fine, Merlin. Don’t be ridiculous.”</p><p>Merlin made uncertain sounds. “That’s what you always say. And then usually it isn’t true.”</p><p>“Shut up,” said Arthur, “and fetch me my breakfast.”</p><p>His breakfast, much to his relief, stayed on its tray without any difficulty. His armour didn’t move itself while Merlin fumbled it on. The magic seemed to have tired itself out during the night. Or perhaps – he hardly dared to even contemplate the possibility – perhaps it was gone altogether.</p><p>His hopes were thoroughly dashed later that morning, when he was in the armoury, fumbling off his vambraces – Merlin had vanished again, Lord knew what he was getting up to – sunlight streaming through the window behind him, warm on the back of his neck, hot beads of sweat prickling as they dried. It felt like the magic, he realised like a start, hot and uncomfortable, but not unpleasant, and almost satisfying.</p><p>His vambraces clattered to the floor, bouncing and skittering away, catching on the edge of the door as it swung open, sending them flying across the room. Merlin burst in, carrying a pitcher of water, sloshing angrily, almost spilling. “It’s warmer than I expected,” he said. “Thought you’d be thirsty.” He held out the pitcher.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>Arthur opened his mouth to scold him, to say that Merlin’s job was to be here, at his side, helping him with his armour, not rushing around setting himself silly errands and being <i>helpful</i>, but Merlin’s smile was so hopeful and so desperate for validation, and the sunlight seemed to dance in his eyes, his skin glowing, and in the end all Arthur managed was, “Thank you. That was – yes.” He cleared his throat. “Help me with my armour.”<p>Merlin nodded, set the pitcher down, and stepped forward, fingers deftly working the clasps and buckles, briefly brushing the skin of Arthur’s neck – they were cool, Merlin always seemed to have such cold hands. He looked up for a moment, meeting Arthur’s gaze. He was still smiling. The magic buzzed inside Arthur, somewhere deep and sensitive. </p><p>Something was glinting in the sunlight behind Merlin’s shoulder. Arthur thought it must be a reflection, light bouncing off his armour or something like that, until he turned to look. It was his vambraces, floating merrily in the air, as if dancing a little jig. They hung there silently for a moment, taunting him, and then Arthur gasped and flinched away and they tumbled to the floor with a rattle of metal. </p><p>Merlin turned at the sound, and Arthur’s heart sank – he’d notice something was strange, he must, no-one was that blind – but all Merlin did was pick them up, muttering apologies, and went back to his work.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>The magic was in his dream again that night, this time joined by blue eyes and gentle fingers –a smile and joyful laughter. He woke early the next morning to find his room in disarray, his sheets clinging stickily to his groin, and all he could do was lie sprawled on his bed, heart pounding. The magic was not going away.<p>After a while, the light from the window brightened, losing its misty, dawn quality, and he began to hear people moving outside, in the courtyard and the corridors. Merlin might just arrive soon, provided he didn’t sleep in again. Arthur crawled out of bed and wiped himself off behind the screen, wincing at the cold water – he was alone in his room, there really wasn’t any need of the extra privacy, but he was ashamed of himself, more ashamed than he’d been since he was twelve and blushing as his sheets had to be laundered over and over – then padded around barefoot, tidying up as best he could. It was cold, the fire not yet built up, still grey ashes, and his skin prickled with goose bumps.</p><p>By the time Merlin arrived, with the breakfast tray and a cheerful smile, Arthur was already dressed and sitting on the edge of the bed, toying with the wrinkled, stained sheets.</p><p>“You’re up already?” said Merlin, pausing inside the door. “I’m not late, am I? I mean, I don’t think I am. Am I? I tried not to be late this morning, I swear –”</p><p>“Shut up, Merlin,” said Arthur, then, “No, you’re fine – I woke up early, that’s all. I couldn’t sleep.”</p><p>Merlin shifted, stance changing, clutching the tray more tightly. “Are you sure you’re alright? You don’t look well.”</p><p>“I’m fine,” Arthur snapped. “Put the tray down, then strip the bed. The sheets need laundering.”</p><p>“They were washed on Tuesday.” Merlin frowned.</p><p>“Well, they need washing again,” said Arthur. He stood up and snatched the tray away from Merlin, sending water dripping down the sides of the cup. “Get on with it, alright?”</p><p>Merlin stepped back, holding up his hands, and for a moment he looked as if he might speak, but he just moved away quietly, perceptive for once. Arthur sat at the table and picked at his breakfast until Merlin was gone, dirty sheets piled up in his arms, then drained his water cup, set it on the table, and stared at it intently.</p><p>After a while, he stood up, standing over it, and stretched out a hand, willing it to move, willing the magic inside him to move it, but there was nothing, not a crackle or a buzz, just the cold floor beneath his feet and the last few drops of water clinging to the rim of the cup.</p><p>“Come on,” he said. “Come on, then.” </p><p>He stood there for a little longer, until he started feeling silly, waving his hand at an empty cup in his room, and stood back, straightening his clothes. He’d skip breakfast, he thought. He wasn’t hungry. His stomach was churning with hot, dizzying nausea. His father was expecting him at court. He would have to see his father, with <i>magic</i> bubbling away under his skin, magic that might burst out at any moment, and – he didn’t have a choice.</p><p>By the time he reached the council chambers, he was quite literally quaking in his boots, quivering from the ankles up, as nervous as he’d been before his very first tournament. He had to stop and press his forehead against the cool stone of the wall and take deep breaths – <i>one, two, one, two</i> – before he felt he could walk in without falling over.</p><p>Once he was inside, he stumbled to his chair and sank down into it, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, but that was tricky, when you were the prince, and everyone looked at you when you walked into the room by default. </p><p>“Your highness,” said a councillor. “You’re looking well.” Arthur nodded politely at him.</p><p>“Prince Arthur,” said another. He was holding out a sheet of parchment. “I have the trade annals from last Autumn, I was wondering –”</p><p>“Yes,” said Arthur. “Of course. Whatever you say.” He sat back in his seat and folded his arms. The councillor looked confused, but thankfully he said nothing.</p><p>Much to Arthur’s relief, his father arrived before anyone else could talk to him. He strode in as usual, took his seat at the head of the table, and glared at them all, giving them a moment to bask in his kingly glory before they began discussing their trade routes and the upcoming harvest and whether or not war was imminent.</p><p>Well. Arthur could handle that. He’d sat through a council meeting with a hangover once and no-one had noticed (Geoffrey had given him a suspicious look, but he did that all the time anyway). If he could manage to speak coherently and not perform inadvertent magic, he’d be fine.</p><p>Merlin sidled into the room a little before lunch, just when Arthur thought everything was going alright. He propped himself up against a pillar and smiled warmly when Arthur twisted round to look at him. Merlin’s smile was completely ridiculous and made him look utterly gormless, so much so that Arthur’s stomach twisted at the sight. He glared and turned away, back to business, but couldn’t resist glancing over his shoulder again a moment later. Merlin was frowning now, concerned, his hands folded behind his back, the picture of a good servant. Arthur looked away, but it was as if he could still feel Merlin’s gaze, hot on the back of his neck, his skin prickling with it.</p><p>Arthur could feel the magic again, shifting inside, as if it were waking up and stretching after a nap. He sank lower in his seat, trying to ignore the sensation, trying to think about something else, <i>anything</i> else – if he could just forget about it, it might go away for a while, until he was alone. He squeezed his eyes shut and felt it begin to ebb, leaving him trembling with relief.</p><p>He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, and something jolted through him, like lightning, or being drenched in a bucket of cold water, and it was Merlin, Merlin, standing right beside him, much closer than was really proper for a servant, so close Arthur could almost taste him.</p><p>“Are you alright, Sire?” said Merlin.</p><p>Arthur’s eyes fluttered closed. The magic flared inside him, the air around him crackling and full of shouts and cries of alarm, but he still kept his eyes closed, not daring to look, to see what he’d done, until the scent of smoke hit his nostrils.</p><p>The flames were licking across the parchment scattered around the table, the councillors beating at them frantically. His father was shouting for the guards. Booted feet were rattling the corridors. The wood of the table top was scorching, burning, smoke beginning to rise, and all Arthur could do was sit and stare.</p><p>Quite suddenly, a tremendous wave of water crashed across the table, snuffing out the fire with a dull hiss and splashing across their clothes. For a moment there was silence but for the water dripping down to the floor. Then the king raised his head, wiped at his face, and glared at something behind Arthur’s shoulder.</p><p>They all twisted round to look as one. Merlin was standing there, with an empty bucket in his hands and a frown on his face. Once he realised every gaze in the room was on him, he shifted awkwardly, hands slipping on the bucket.</p><p>“Where did you get that bucket from so quickly?” said Lord Eammon, blinking in confusion.</p><p>“Does it matter?” said someone else. “Well done to him.”</p><p>“Sorcery,” said Uther suddenly, plunging the room back into quiet.</p><p>Merlin cleared his throat. “Um,” he said. “I didn’t –”</p><p>“No, of course,” said Uther, rising from his chair and marching towards the door to meet the guards as they tumbled into the room in a noisy rush. “You did exactly the right thing. Well done.” He clapped Merlin on the shoulder as he passed. Arthur stared after him, not sure whether to be relieved or horrified. His father was speaking to the guards now, but he couldn’t seem to make out the words, the knowledge of what he had just done sinking in.</p><p>He could have burnt down the council chambers. Hell, he could have burnt down the whole <i>castle</i> if Merlin hadn’t been quite so quick with the bucket. And in front of the entire council – if they’d noticed, if someone guessed what he had done –</p><p>“Arthur!” his father barked. </p><p>Arthur sat bolt upright in his chair. “Sire?” he said.</p><p>“I need you to organise a search of the castle. We can’t allow this attack to go unpunished.”</p><p>“Search?” said Arthur.</p><p>“For the sorcerer,” said his father slowly. Arthur blinked at him, comprehension slowly dawning. Then he leapt to his feet and brushed some stray droplets of water off his jacket.</p><p>“Of course, Sire,” he said. “I was distracted, I apologise. I’ll see to it at once.”<br/>
He left the room with the guards following behind him, feeling strangely elated, as if he were a little boy stealing biscuits behind his nurse’s back. He’d got away with it. His father didn’t suspect a thing, and no-one would <i>dare</i> accuse the crown prince of sorcery, if they valued their life.</p><p>The elation lasted until he was safely back in his room, until he’d taken off his boots and was relaxing in his chair, congratulating himself on a wild goose chase well-organised. But then Merlin stepped into his line of sight, and said,<br/>
“Can I get you anything, Sire?”</p><p>Arthur stared at him, startled. He’d hardly even noticed Merlin was there. That never happened. “No,” he said after a moment. “No, thank you.”</p><p>“Are you sure?” said Merlin. “You didn’t eat breakfast this morning, I thought maybe –”</p><p>“I’m fine,” said Arthur.</p><p>“You haven’t eaten since last night,” said Merlin, with that determined set to his jaw that Arthur knew far too well.</p><p>“I’m not hungry,” he said. </p><p>“You look awful,” said Merlin. “I thought you were ill earlier. You were all pale, and, well,” he waved his hand vaguely. Arthur assumed he was trying to convey something along the lines of <i>generally unwell</i> but it could also have been <i>sparkly</i>, you really never knew with Merlin.</p><p>“I’m fine,” Arthur said again.</p><p>“And then all that business with the fire,” said Merlin. “I haven’t seen you look that scared since –”</p><p>“I’m <i>fine</i>.” Arthur stood up and folded his arms. “You did very well back there,” he said, tone stern. “We might well all owe you our lives. Why don’t you take the afternoon off.” He glared.</p><p>“No,” said Merlin. “I don’t want to.”</p><p>“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Arthur. “You always want time off, you lazy git.”</p><p>Merlin’s frown deepened. And it wasn’t as if Arthur hadn’t said worse to him before, of course he had, there was no reason for him to look so upset. “Arthur,” he said. “What happened earlier, I think –”</p><p>“You don’t need to concern yourself with that,” said Arthur.</p><p>“But I think –” Merlin began.</p><p>“Merlin, if you say one more word, I will <i>not</i> be held responsible for what I do,” Arthur snapped. “Do you understand?” Merlin shifted slightly, then nodded. “Good,” said Arthur. He turned away, back towards his chair, but then Merlin muttered behind him:</p><p>“I was just saying…”</p><p>Arthur swung back round to face him with a cry of rage and frustration, taking Merlin by the shoulders and dragging him towards the door. “When I tell you to be quiet,” he gritted out over Merlin’s protests, “you will be <i>quiet</i>, do you understand?”</p><p>He flung Merlin out the door without giving him a chance to reply, sent him staggering into the opposite wall, then slammed the door shut and locked it tight.</p><p>Merlin was still outside when his breathing began to calm, still protesting away, <i>still not quiet</i>, and Arthur wasn’t sure how much longer he could stand this. Whatever <i>this</i> was.</p><p>He didn’t see Merlin again until that evening, when he arrived at Arthur’s rooms with dinner and an exceptionally sullen expression. He served up Arthur’s soup with much more force than was necessary, leaving stray droplets all over the table and splashing Arthur’s clothes, because he was a clumsy, idiotic manservant; there was no denying it.</p><p>Merlin finished with the soup, set the tureen down with a sharp <i>thud</i>, then passed Arthur the bread. “Sire,” he said. “Will that be all, Sire?” </p><p>Arthur picked at the bread. “This is stale, Merlin,” he said. “Is this leftover from yesterday?”</p><p>“It’s what the cook gave me,” said Merlin, without so much as blinking. “Will you be wanting anything else, or can I leave now?”</p><p>“You can stay right where you are,” said Arthur. He stirred at his soup. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? I offered you the afternoon off, you could’ve taken it if you wanted to.”</p><p>“Well, that was earlier,” said Merlin. “Before you started throwing me around like a practice dummy.”</p><p>“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Arthur. “You don’t throw practice dummies around.” He straightened up. “If you really want to be somewhere else, you can get me some bread that isn’t stale.” When Merlin didn’t move, he leaned back in his chair and spread his hands. “Why are you being like this, <i>Mer</i>lin?”</p><p>“Why am I –” Merlin gaped at him. “You – I have <i>bruises</i>.” Arthur swallowed, trying to ignore the brief surge of guilt. Merlin groaned and took his head in his hands. “I’m worried about you. If there’s anything wrong, you can tell –”</p><p>“There is <i>nothing</i> wrong with me!” Arthur bellowed. Merlin staggered back, as if the force of Arthur’s words were a gust of wind.</p><p>“You’ve been acting strange for ages,” said Merlin. “You’ve hardly eaten all day. And earlier – I’ve never see you that scared, I swear –”</p><p>“I don’t get scared,” said Arthur.</p><p>Merlin ignored him. “It just isn’t like you,” he said firmly. “I think you –”</p><p>“If I want your opinion, Merlin, I’ll ask for it,” said Arthur.</p><p>“You never ask for my opinion,” said Merlin.</p><p>“Exactly,” said Arthur.</p><p>Merlin gave him a long, hard stare, then turned and marched out of the room, door slamming shut behind him. And that was good, it was quiet now, Arthur could think again now that he was alone, but for some reason his hands clenched into fists of their own accord, the soup bowl began to rattle on the table, then crumbled, soup pouring out and down to the floor. Arthur leapt away, then stared sadly down at the steaming puddle. He hadn’t really been hungry anyway.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>The search for the sorcerer went more or less as he expected for the first few days – there was a lot of chasing around and searching of houses and shouting, and doing his best to be as believable as possible until his father gave up and conceded that they’d just have to wait for the sorcerer to strike again (because they always did, as far as his father was concerned).<p>Arthur’s mood began to brighten as time went on and everything seemed to be going smoothly, and he began to compose his apology – <i>I’m sorry, Sire, but there’s no trace of the sorcerer anywhere – yes, I’ll do better next time, of course</i>. Merlin, however, remained sullen and quiet, and mostly kept out of Arthur’s way. He was much more efficient than usual, though, so Arthur could stand it.</p><p>The magic remained dormant.</p><p>On the fourth day, he woke up to find the curtains drawn and his breakfast laid out neatly on the table. It took him a moment or two to orient himself – he’d grown so used to Merlin waking him up, it would take him a while to adjust to the emptiness.<br/>
He ate the breakfast, dressed himself in the clothes draped over the chair, and was just putting his boots on when there came a frantic knock at the door. He called for them to come in – it was probably Merlin, it usually was. Arthur glanced up to greet him, but instead there was another servant, all pale and freckly and panting from running up the stairs. </p><p>“Sire,” he said. “They’ve found the sorcerer, sire – the king wants to see you at once!”</p><p>It was as if all the warmth drained out of Arthur’s body, the magic prickling the inside of his skin like ice, paralysing him. “They found the what?” he choked out.</p><p>The walk to the throne room was slow and torturous, his boots flopping around his ankles – he had to stop halfway to fasten them properly, hands shaking – and when he arrived he tried to stop walking, to wait outside for a moment longer, to delay, but his feet carried him straight on in, through the doors, and into the great echoing space beyond.</p><p>And there, standing hunched in the centre of the floor, was the sorcerer. Arthur caught a glimpse of dark hair, of long, lanky limbs and worn clothes, and his heart almost stopped, the magic raging so hard that wind rattled the windowpanes outside, prompting a murmur of alarm. But then the sorcerer jerked and twisted in his bonds, frightened, and Arthur saw his face, and it wasn’t him. It wasn’t Merlin. Of course it wasn’t – Merlin was there too, standing in a corner with Gaius, looking grave and gaunt, but <i>safe</i>, and Arthur had to quash and urge to rush over and gather him up in his arms and –</p><p>“Arthur,” said his father, voice cold, acknowledging him with a nod. “I want the execution arranged by noon tomorrow. Let it be a lesson to all that the crime of sorcery warrants a hasty death.”</p><p>Arthur took a few halting steps forward. Beside him, the sorcerer trembled, then fell to his knees, heads still bowed.</p><p>“Are you sure?” he said. “It can’t have been more than a few hours – how can you be sure he’s guilty?”</p><p>“There’ve been multiple accusations against him,” said the King. “I don’t see any doubt. Unless you’ve had more success?”</p><p>Arthur opened his mouth, then shut it again, because what could he say? That there was no sorcerer, that it was him, it had been him all along and he’d been too much of a coward to just confess it, even when there was an innocent man’s life in his hands. At his feet, the sorcerer choked out a plea. Arthur turned to face him, and found him looking up, eyes wide and terrified and staring straight into Arthur’s own. </p><p>“I,” said Arthur, trying to tear his gaze away – it was as if he had some strange magnetism, perhaps he really was a sorcerer – “I’ll see to it at once, father. Sire.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>He pictured it.<p>Blood staining the chopping block, the blade of the axe, dripping down the handle. He could see it, in his mind’s eye, he could <i>smell</i> it, gushing from the sorcerer’s severed neck. He could see the man’s head rolling on the scaffold. The last hideous twitches of his body.</p><p>Blood spilled, on his account. Blood on his hands.</p><p>If his father found out what he was, would it be the axe for him, he wondered? Or would he be given the dignity of the sword.</p><p>From the window, Arthur watched as they put up the scaffold, his eyes going again and again to the old, dark bloodstains on the block. He felt the glass of the window pane tremor beneath his hand, looked up to see cracks spiralling out from his fingers, fracturing the glass, the magic seething and pulsing inside him. He snatched his hand away, but it was still there, still inside him and coming out in bursts.</p><p>Night fell. He didn’t sleep.</p><p>In the early hours of the morning he stole down to the dungeons. In his cell the sorcerer – if that was what he was – lay curled upon the bench, still, but not sleeping. Arthur could tell by the uneven rise and fall of his chest that he was awake.</p><p>He unlocked the cell. The man raised his head, looking at him with pale, baleful eyes, neither frightened nor relieved, merely resigned to whatever was coming.</p><p>Arthur said, “follow me.”</p><p>By the time he got back to his rooms, the sun had risen and his magic was boiling underneath his skin.</p><p>It stayed under his skin for just long enough, until he slammed the doors shut behind him and turned to face the window, the sunlight streaming in onto his face, almost blinding, and it roared out like a great wave, rattling and groaning, the room shaking like an earthquake, everything crumbling and shattering and falling to pieces around him, all heat and sound and agony, and then it was over as quickly as it had begun, the room quiet but for his panicked sobbing breaths and the creaking of the window dangling off its hinges. </p><p>He’d fallen to his knees at some point – he hadn’t even noticed. He hauled himself back up and stood gazing at the carnage he had wrought, at the tattered shards of his life.</p><p>What was he now? A sorcerer? A traitor to the crown? Who was he?</p><p>The blank, empty silence seemed to stretch on for an age, but it couldn’t have been more than a minute or so, because there were feet racing down the corridor, a voice calling his name. Merlin tumbled in, gasping.</p><p>“What was –” He broke off and gaped at what was left of Arthur’s rooms, then let the door fall closed behind him. “Arthur,” he said slowly. “What happened?”</p><p>And Arthur stared at him, at the concern and determination and <i>pity</i> written all over his face, and suddenly everything clicked into place.</p><p>Merlin had spells in his room. He hadn’t even realised, he’d been too preoccupied with the magic to notice where it had come from – it had come from Merlin’s room. Merlin’s handwriting. From <i>Merlin</i>. Merlin, who never failed to be near when the magic reared its ugly head. Merlin, who had called fire out from under his skin with only a touch. <i>Merlin</i>.</p><p>It all made sense now, he’d had this wrong from the start – it wasn’t his fault after all.<br/>
He snatched Merlin up by the shoulders with a furious snarl and pinned him against the wall, his head thunking against the bricks, so quickly he didn’t even have time to cry out, and said, “It was you, wasn’t it? You did this to me?”</p><p>“What?” said Merlin, dazed. Arthur slammed him into the wall again. He yelped.</p><p>“You did this to me,” said Arthur. “You – <i>enchanted</i> me!”</p><p>The colour drained out of Merlin’s face, and he was trembling so hard that Arthur could feel him shaking in his grip, but all he said was, “I don’t – I don’t know what you’re talking about.”</p><p>Arthur tightened his grip. “Don’t lie to me,” he said. “I know what you are – why else would you have spells in your room, you filthy sorcerer?” Merlin shook his head and tried to speak. Arthur slammed him into the wall yet again. “Liar.” Yet again.</p><p>“Traitor!”</p><p>“I can explain…” Merlin gasped out.</p><p>“Why would you do this?” said Arthur. “Are you trying to get me killed? Is that was this is? Or did you just think it would be funny?”</p><p>“I didn’t, I’d never –” Merlin’s chest was heaving, his heart pounding, Arthur could feel it, they were pressed so close together. His grip began to shift from Merlin’s shoulder to his neck. </p><p>“Undo it,” he hissed. “Undo your curse. <i>Now</i>.”</p><p>“I can’t,” Merlin sobbed. “I –” Arthur’s hand clenched around his throat. He leaned forward, pressing his face against Merlin’s hair, breathing him in, and whispered in his ear.</p><p>“I just want it to stop,” he whispered, the words spilling out before he could stop them. “If I kill you, will it stop?”</p><p>His grip faltered, his fingers unclenching all by themselves, and then his whole body seemed to slacken, all his energy and fury draining away, and he slumped forward into Merlin with a sob. “Please make it stop.”</p><p>For a long, long moment, Merlin stood frozen before him, rigid, breath coming in short, sharp pants against Arthur’s neck, but then his hand came up to squeeze Arthur’s shoulder. “I can’t,” he said. “I don’t – it wasn’t me. I’m so sorry, I’m sorry for everything, but – I didn’t, and I’d never. I’d never use it to hurt you. I swear.”</p><p>Arthur clung there for a while as Merlin’s voice fell to a murmur – he couldn’t make out individual works any more, but he didn’t care, the sound was a comforting buzz between them, worming under his skin and settling there.</p><p>Once it began to feel silly – he was a prince, he shouldn’t be clinging to his manservant like some sort of snivelling child – he pushed away from Merlin and staggered back, feet crunching on shards of something broken and fragile, wiping away tears he hadn’t cried, and said, “you’re a sorcerer.”</p><p>“Yes.” Merlin rubbed at his throat. “I – always. Since I was born. I’m sorry.”</p><p>Arthur just nodded, slowly, because he’d known, he’d known since he’d found the spell, it just hadn’t hit him until now. Maybe he’d even known before that. It was hard to tell.</p><p>“But you didn’t,” he said, “do this to me.”</p><p>“Do what to you?” said Merlin. Arthur didn’t answer. “Arthur, why do you think you’re enchanted?”</p><p>“It doesn’t matter,” Arthur snapped.</p><p>“Doesn’t matter?” said Merlin. “You just threatened to kill me because you thought I –”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” said Arthur. “I wasn’t going to do it. You know I wasn’t going to do it, don’t you?” Merlin just stared. “It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”</p><p>Merlin took his hand away from his throat – he was starting to bruise, Arthur noticed, his stomach twisting unpleasantly – and said, “Arthur. Will you please just talk to me? For once?”</p><p>“The spell,” Arthur said. “In your room. I found it.”</p><p>“What spell?” Merlin frowned.</p><p>“It was – about a week ago,” said Arthur. “I read it out, and – everything started flying. And since then –” He broke off and waited to see if Merlin would interrupt, like he always did, but he just stared. “It’s not me. Please tell me it’s not me.”</p><p>“I thought there was something different,” Merlin said, as if musing. He looked around the room slowly, eyes widening. “Did you do this?”</p><p>“It was an accident,” said Arthur. “I don’t need to explain myself to you, anyway.”</p><p>“And the fire,” said Merlin, “in the council chambers. That was you too?” Arthur took his head in his hands. “Oh. Oh, no. I did wonder.”</p><p>“It’s my fault,” said Arthur. “That man – he could have been killed because of me.”</p><p>“It wasn’t your fault.”</p><p>“I let him go.”</p><p>“I know,” said Merlin. How he knew Arthur didn’t ask. “It wasn’t you. This isn’t your fault, none of it is.” He stepped forward, ignoring the broken glass and pottery that crunched beneath his feet. “You need to learn how to control this before it gets any worse.”</p><p>Arthur shook his head fiercely. “No,” he said. “No – we never speak of this, do you hear me? I just want it forgotten.”</p><p>“Yes, and next time you might bring the whole castle down,” said Merlin. </p><p>“How <i>dare</i> you –”</p><p>“That’s not very likely, though, that would take an awful lot of power,” Merlin went on. “I’m sorry. I can feel it. Sort of. It’s not bad, Arthur. It’s just wild, that’s all.”</p><p>“Oh, what do you know?” said Arthur.</p><p>“Quite a lot, actually,” said Merlin. He stopped walking a foot or so away from Arthur. “Look, I know you think I’m stupid and awkward and generally incompetent, and to be honest you’re right most of the time, but I know about magic, alright? I know a lot about magic – it’s part of me, it always has been. And you can trust me. I promise. Just let me help you. Please?”</p><p>“I don’t need help,” said Arthur. “And certainly not from you.” It was a lie, a bare-faced lie – he wanted to fall to his knees and beg Merlin to help him, to magic this away, to fix things, but he couldn’t.</p><p>“You know, sometimes I think you’re too royal for your own good,” said Merlin. He paused, anxiety flashing across his face for a moment, then spread his hands and said a few strange, flowing, ancient words.</p><p>His magic flowed through the room like a cool, golden breeze, rushing over the broken furniture and torn cloth and the battered remains of his armour and set it all to rights, silently mending wood and metal and glass so perfectly that Arthur would never have guessed it had been broken.</p><p>He turned on the spot, following its progress around the room, scarcely able to believe what he was seeing. Merlin was grinning at his expression, the last vestiges of gold fading from his eyes, and Arthur had never wanted to kiss anyone so much as he did in that moment.</p><p>But he didn’t, because he couldn’t, because he was a prince and Merlin was still just a servant and because Merlin was suddenly as terrifying as he was wonderful, and because it just couldn’t happen. Not ever.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>“I knew you could do it,” said Merlin.<p>Arthur dropped his arm back to his side. “Well, you don’t have to sound so smug about it,” he said.</p><p>“I’m not,” said Merlin. “I just – that was wonderful.”</p><p>It was dark outside, the window inky black, the fire crackling in the fireplace, shadows flickering across Merlin’s face and dancing in his eyes as Arthur turned to face him.</p><p>“It’s not wonderful,” said Arthur. “It’s – I don’t even know what it is. I just want to tame it, that’s all.”</p><p>“It is,” said Merlin. “I wish I could tell you about it, but I can’t, it’s not really something you can tell…” He paused, then reached out and grabbed Arthur’s hand, twisting their fingers together, squeezing tight, and said, “Want me to show you?”</p><p>Arthur swallowed, then squeezed back. He wasn’t sure he dared speak.</p><p>Merlin’s eyes flared gold, and for a moment Arthur felt nothing but the slightest clammy skin of Merlin’s palm against his own, but then all of a suddenly he could feel <i>magic</i>, a great blaze of it inside Merlin, like a forest on fire, like an ocean, all wound up and tucked away, all full of potential and mysteries waiting to be unlocked and rushing, exhilarating energy, so much that he wondered how Merlin could sleep with it burning away inside him. His eyes dropped closed, and then he could see it as well as feel it. </p><p>The magic inside Arthur was nothing in comparison, a pale smudge, a glow of sparks, scarlet against Merlin’s sea of gold, the two intermingling, and he thought perhaps he would be swallowed up.</p><p>He could feel it on his skin, tendrils of gold creeping around his fingers and his wrist and his arm, and he could feel Merlin’s skin soft and warm and trembling beneath his magic.</p><p><i>His</i> magic. His. It belonged to him, his to wield and to shape and to possess, forever, and for a single moment he wouldn’t have had it any other way. </p><p>Merlin’s magic felt so real against his skin that he was surprised to see nothing but his clasped hands when he opened his eyes. Merlin was looking at him, eyes still gold, flushed and panting, and Arthur wanted to be all around him, to be inside him, to hold him and possess him and mark him, to claim him for his own, and Merlin wanted it too, he could feel it. </p><p>Merlin tilted his head to the side and leaned in, so close that Arthur could feel his breath on his lips, but he couldn’t, this had to stop. He wrenched his hand out of Merlin’s grasp and the magic was gone as suddenly as it had come.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he said, as Merlin’s eyes widened, blue again, as he let out a little gasp of shock and maybe pain. “I just – I can’t. We can’t.”</p><p>“Yes, we can,” said Merlin.</p><p>“You’re a servant,” said Arthur, then, quickly, when Merlin seemed to be about to roll his eyes, “and it’s not proper, and – I’ve treated you like filth these past few days. I couldn’t take advantage on top of all that, it just wouldn’t be right.”</p><p>“It’s alright,” said Merlin, breath ghosting across Arthur’s neck. His hands snaked around Arthur’s back, gripping the fabric of his shirt. “I don’t mind. Well, I do mind, but not that much. And I want this. It’s not taking advantage if I want it.” His lips pressed against Arthur’s jawbone.</p><p>“We <i>can’t</i>,” Arthur insisted.</p><p>“We can,” said Merlin. “I command it.” He kissed Arthur’s neck again, and again, and Arthur wrapped an arm around his neck, holding him close, but not close enough.</p><p>“You’re not the one giving commands,” said Arthur. “That’s my job. Besides, it’s not even us, it’s – <i>ah</i> – the magic. That’s all.”</p><p>“I don’t care,” said Merlin. “It’s part of me and it’s part of you and I’ve always wanted this, I don’t care what you say.” He drew back slightly, eyes meeting Arthur’s, and said, “Just say yes. Please?”</p><p>“I –” Arthur swallowed. “Yes. God, yes. Always.”</p><p>Then Merlin kissed him – or perhaps he kissed Merlin, or perhaps they just met halfway, it was hard to tell, and he didn’t care, because he finally had Merlin right where he wanted him. He wrapped his arms around Merlin’s waist, and felt Merlin shift, his opening up, tentative, and it was soft and sweet and gentle until Arthur couldn’t stand it any longer. He pulled Merlin even closer, hips rocking forward, and Merlin pushed back and he was so <i>hard</i>, they both were, and when Arthur pulled away Merlin <i>keened</i>.</p><p>“I’m going to take you to bed now,” Arthur gasped out – Merlin’s lips were still brushing his, as if he couldn’t bear to be any further away, and the magic was tingling under their skin.</p><p>He only got halfway there, really, pushing Merlin down onto the edge of the bed, lying slantwise with their legs all tangled up. He tugged Merlin’s boots off and threw them across the room, then kissed him again, because he could, and again, and again, and he’d had plans for this, he had, they’d involved removing more clothing and getting under the covers and doing it properly, but Merlin’s eyes were half-closed with a glint of gold and his hips were pressed up against Arthur’s, writhing, and then he gasped out, <i>Arthur, Arthur, oh God</i> and all Arthur could do was bury his face in Merlin’s neck as he came, the magic like fireworks behind his eyelids, crackling all over his skin and drawing little moans out of Merlin, and finally, <i>finally</i> his.</p><p>He’d scarcely even got his breath back when Merlin yelled and pushed him away frantically. He resisted for a moment, hurt and confused, but then Merlin pushed harder, sending them both sprawling on the floor, panting, and Arthur saw the flames.</p><p>They were licking across the sheets, two little growing patches, spreading out from the spots where Arthur’s hands must have been gripping the bedspread.</p><p>“You set fire to the bed,” said Merlin, voice a little slurred. “You set <i>fire</i> to the <i>bed</i>.” </p><p>He laughed, breathless, and Arthur wanted to shake him. He reached for a pillow and beat the flames out, trying to quell the rising panic.</p><p>“Are you alright?” he said once there was nothing but smoke and charred fabric.</p><p>“I’m fine,” said Merlin.</p><p>“Are you sure?” said Arthur, taking him by the shoulders, hands running down his back, checking for burns.</p><p>“I’m fine,” said Merlin again. “Promise.” He sank forward into Arthur’s arms. “That was… something.”</p><p>“I wanted it to be better,” said Arthur. “I could’ve hurt you.”</p><p>“Yes, and I could’ve stopped you,” said Merlin. “It’s alright.” He drew back a little, met Arthur’s eye, and said, utterly serious, “When I was fourteen I set fire to my blankets wanking.”</p><p>Arthur blinked. “You’re completely ridiculous, you know that?”</p><p>“We’ll be ridiculous together, then,” said Merlin. </p><p>“It’s not that simple,” said Arthur. “This – the magic – <i>my</i> magic – if my father ever…”</p><p>“He won’t,” said Merlin. “He doesn’t have to know. And one day, when you’re king, you can make things right.”</p><p>“You think so?” said Arthur.</p><p>“I know so,” said Merlin, smiling. He kissed Arthur again, gentle. “Want to give it another try?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><b>Content warnings:</b> Arthur briefly thinks that Merlin has put a curse on him and responds violently, including putting his hand on Merlin's throat.  He stops of his own accord and they talk it out.</p><p>Fun fact! In the original version of the fic (linked in the notes at the beginning) was executed. A couple of people commented that it did not ring true with them that Arthur would stand by and let that happen so I re-wrote that section of the fic before re-posting and that is how I ended up writing Merlin fic like 6+ years after leaving the fandom.</p><p>I <i>think</i> I excised all references to the guy actually dying but. If you spotted any continuity errors let me know.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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